


Undisclosed

by Gilli_ann



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilli_ann/pseuds/Gilli_ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin coincidentally discovers a new and exciting side to life, which however soon proves to be more emotionally challenging than he could have foreseen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undisclosed

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes place mid-season 4 of "Merlin", shortly after Arthur becomes king.
> 
> Thank you to Stagarden for the thorough beta!
> 
> Disclaimer: These particular versions of the legendary characters belong to the BBC and Shine. I make no profit from this and intend no disrespect nor copyright infringement.
> 
> This story is not to be copied from AO3 or used elsewhere by anyone for any reason without my explicit written permission.

## Undisclosed

“There are rumours of witchcraft in the lower town.”

Finished with his rounds for the evening, Gaius closed the door and placed his basket of remedies, samples and herbs on the chair by the door, the only space currently free of vials and bottles. 

Merlin turned to look at him. “Only rumours, or is there more to it, do you think?”

“Where there is smoke there's sure to be a fire,” Gaius muttered. “But it's difficult for me to make certain. The house at the centre of all these tales is owned by a rather formidable woman, a previous cook who now runs a sort of small tavern. The strange thing is, she only lets other women inside.

“Only women? At a _tavern_?”

“Apparently, if any witchcraft is being practised there, it's masquerading behind knitting and gossiping or whatever it is women do when they are among themselves.”

“Only women,” Merlin mused, intrigued. “And you don't know anything more about it?”

“The patrons there are a surprisingly tight-lipped lot. That does make me wonder whether the rumours are true.”

“We should look into it, before this tale reaches Arthur. At this point, who knows what he might do in the name of justice? That mustn't be allowed to happen, Gaius. For their sake, and for his.”

“Merlin.... you're not thinking of breaking into the place with magic, I hope? If they do practice witchcraft or the black arts, they will probably discover you. They may not be as powerful as you, but together they could be dangerous. You must be careful!”

“No magic!” Merlin's eyes sparkled with mischief and his grin took on the slightly maniacal quality that signalled another harebrained scheme in the making. “No, not a single spell, Gaius. I have a better idea!”

And that was how it began.

\- - + - - 

Merlin took great care in dressing himself. He'd chosen a simple dark green dress and a large plain shawl at a travelling vendor's stall, and a plain moss-green cap much like the one his mother always used to wear. It was quite becoming, its strict lines accentuating his cheekbones. But more importantly to a young man in disguise, it hid his short-cropped hair.

The easiest thing was getting hold of the bit of make-up he needed to complete his disguise. Morgana's chambers remained pristine – on Arthur's orders. The king never mentioned it, but seemed in no hurry to have his sorceress half-sister's things cleaned out. The perfume bottles and jewelled cosmetics boxes remained on her dressing table, lip paint and fine black kohl for the eyes, cremes and brilliant blue and green eye shades, enough to put any peacock to shame. Most of it had dried up over the last year, but Merlin found more than enough for his use.

He spent a surprisingly interesting early morning, trying the paints out and deciding what to use. In fact, he had to rein himself in. He intended to look like a modest and well-off peasant girl, not a wanton noble lady. Still, it could do no harm if he prepared for every eventuality.

He brought a goodly part of Morgana's make-up and perfumes back to his room. He'd scooped it into a number of those little potion vials of Gaius'. They proved perfect for the purpose.

That same evening, wearing his new clothes and turning this way and that in front of his one small mirror, Merlin eyed himself critically. He liked what he saw. The dress with its tight waistline over a generous skirt fit him.

He advanced on the mirror, holding his candle up to study his face, biting his lips to make them red.

He felt good. It didn't feel awkward at all, looking like this.

Congratulating himself on a brilliant plan, he twirled around to make his skirts swirl around his feet like a dancer's.

He blew himself a kiss on impulse.

Grinning, he twirled once more. His skirt caught the footstool by the mirror and made him stumble. Two of the vials on the stool went flying and broke, spraying glass shards and a pink powdery substance across the floor boards.

As he magicked the mess into the dust pail with a frown, he ruefully reflected that since his feminine side apparently did not possess more than his customary grace and flair, he had better get himself a decent apron.

\- - + - - 

“Yes?” the tall and imposing woman eyed him coldly, and for a moment he regretted his course of action. But it was too late to run now. And he'd probably get his legs tangled up in the long skirts if he tried to flee, anyway. No way but forward.

He adjusted his drab brown shawl and looked at her beseechingly, taking care to use the pitch of voice he'd rehearsed to fit his disguise. “Forgive me, mistress, but I have heard this is a safe place for a woman to visit on her own? Especially if she's in need of... advice?”

“My name is Marla, girl. Who are you? And what sort of advice are you looking for?”

Merlin pouted, his glance under experimentally kohl-enhanced lashes sweeping sideways and down. “I... I'm just... there's a man who... well, I like him, and... he doesn't notice me.”

Mistress Marla took a step back and groaned. “Love charms and beauty spells, the only thing you silly young girls can think about,” she grumbled. She didn't close the door, though.

“You'd think you'd hold yourself in a little higher regard. But never mind. You are welcome here, as are all women open to knowledge about the old arts. I'm sure there's someone inside who will be interested in helping you.”

Merlin beamed at her in utter relief. Compelled by her towering presence, he curtsied briefly, and stepped inside. He walked slowly and carefully, and therefore with considerably more dignity than he normally did. The long skirt was difficult to move in without stumbling.

He looked about in the large room inside.

In one corner a decorative wind chime was hanging from the roof, its glinting ornaments and coloured feathers declaring it a charm of the old religion beyond doubt. A number of women were sitting clustered round several tables. They were drinking from pewter mugs and eating something out of shared bowls, but there were other things on the tables as well. Merlin spied a few vials and bottles, and caught the glint of a silver protective charm. At one table an elderly woman was using her finger to draw strange signs in a fine blue powder that had been spread across the table top.

No-one paid Merlin any mind beyond a cursory glance. He smiled, relieved.

After a moment he walked over to the closest table, where a dark-haired big-bosomed woman was organizing tiny crimson-coloured fabric pouches on leather cords. That had to be love charms, as surely as his name was.... Merith.

She looked up at him and smiled. “How can I help you, girl?”

\- - + - - 

“All that they do is peddle simple healing magics, love charms and the like – rabbits' feet blessed with good fortune, protective pendants, and … uhm... yes, remedies that will prevent a woman from conceiving.”

Merlin blushed and looked to the side. He felt uncomfortable talking with Gaius about sex. Especially when he was dressed like a pretty young woman himself. He hurried on.

“I sensed no dark sorcery being used there, and saw no-one who could be a powerful witch. I think their activities pose no threat to Camelot – but they _are_ dabbling in magic. They are risking their own hides. And Arthur's peace of mind.”

Gaius nodded pensively, satisfied with the news. He seemed to have difficulty looking directly at Merlin. It was very amusing. Merlin batted his eyelashes.

“Thank you, Merlin. I'll deal with it. I'll talk to this Marla woman in a few days' time, let her know that the word is out and that the story of their secret arts is spreading. I will convince her to take her business out of Camelot. Honest wise women, healers and charm-peddlers, if that's indeed all they are, - they will not want to experience the Pendragon wrath. I hope this will be the end of it.”

Merlin nodded, pulling his shawl tighter around his knobbly shoulders as he stood up. His grin was gone. “We'll have saved Arthur from killing innocents because of his hatred of magic. I'm glad.”

Gaius finally looked up at him, suddenly with a twinkle in his eye. “Good work, Merlin. And, if I may be so bold, let me assure you that you look exceedingly fetching tonight.”

Merlin wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at his mentor. But he felt his good mood reappearing. A secret smile tugged at his lips as he climbed the stairs to his room.

\- - + - - 

That could have been the end of it. _Merith's_ clothes were hidden safely away in Merlin's rarely-used closet, and he went about his usual duties as Arthur's manservant in his baggy breeches, blue tunic and red neckerchief as always.

The rumours of magic died down. The fantastic stories faded away and were soon enough no more than yesterday's boring news among the squat little houses and narrow alleys of the lower town.

But Merlin couldn't quite forget.

After a few weeks had passed he took the dress out and looked at it. He brushed it down, held it up so as to cover his ordinary garb, and studied himself in the mirror for a moment.

He sighed and was about to put the dress back into hiding. Then all at once inspiration hit him out of the blue. Here was a glorious chance at some proper payback!

He mulled the idea over, planning ahead. If he was to set this little scheme in motion, he'd have to make preparations first. And there is no time like the present.

The next day he let Arthur wait in vain for the royal breakfast. Instead he donned the green dress, changed himself into Merith as soon as Gaius had left his chambers, and went down to the market.

He spent some time browsing through the displays at the market stalls. Women customers were all around him, studying the merchandise, chatting, laughing and haggling, and paying him no particular mind.

Once more Merlin experienced a thrilling sense of freedom in blending in like this. He was getting the hang of the _dressing up as a woman_ lark. No-one seemed to suspect he wasn't quite what he seemed.

At length he bought himself a blue shawl with a pattern of green leaves, and a thick dark braid of hair. Noble ladies and merchants' wives would frequently buy such hair pieces to enhance their own locks and show off more luxuriant hair than nature had granted them. It wasn't spoken of, of course, except in catty whispers behind the woman's back. The vendor, taking Merlin for a lady's maid on her mistress' errand, discreetly asked no questions and expertly wrapped the braid up in a nondescript piece of cloth.

Another successful trial run! Merlin hitched his shawl victoriously into place as he walked away with his catch. And oh, he was enjoying himself immensely! Hiding his magic in plain sight had always felt like a loss. This, on the other hand, felt _liberating._

On the way back home, stepping daintily around the puddles in the road, he stopped at the silversmith's shop and treated himself to a small silver pendant, a star with a tiny blue stone inset.

He wanted Merith to look _pretty_. She deserved it.

\- - + - - 

As soon as he overheard Leon, Elyan and Gwaine groan about the rigours of the latest patrol, he knew the time had come. They would be going to the tavern that evening for sure.

Merlin felt the thrill of anticipation. Who knew what sort of temptations and surprises the knights might meet on their way?

The time had come to pay them back for the many pranks they'd played on him, following Arthur's lead. The times they'd pretended to have helped themselves to all the food, leaving none for him, came to mind. Not to mention those times when they _had_ actually eaten all the food, the miserable louts. Well, payback would be a..... pretty woman. At least at first. Merlin grinned. He intended to out-prank them once and for all.

In the early evening he expertly evaded Arthur's long list of royal orders. He'd just have to do the washing, mending and polishing using magic on the sly. It wouldn't be the first time.

Once more donning Merith's dress, Merlin this time let the apron rest on its shelf, and took out the blue shawl instead. The tradesman had told him flirtatiously that it brought out the beautiful blue of his eyes. Even if that had been mostly the usual sales pitch, he could see that the colour was becoming.

He shaved himself carefully and fiddled for a while fastening the long dark braid. His own hair was too short, it seemed impossible! Exasperated, and running out of time, he eventually had to resort to magic to fix the thing firmly in place. He pulled the braid forward over his right shoulder and let it dangle there, looped the shawl over his arms, straightened his back and pushed his chest in its snug plain bodice forward. He almost wished he could have magicked himself a set of big firm breasts, - a guarantee that Gwaine would stare! - but a few handkerchiefs pushed into the bodice would have to do. The silver pendant glittered on its chain and drew attention to the modest swell he'd created. It didn't look half bad.

Winding one of Morgana's rare plain silken scarves around his head and tying it in back, covering most of the cropped hair, he was ready for action and out the door, skirt swirling playfully round his long legs.

\- - + - - 

He positioned himself under the awning of a town house. The spot offered an excellent view of a goodly stretch of the township's main passageway, while simultaneously leaving him hidden in shadows.

He was nervous despite himself. His heart was picking up speed.

And there they were. The three knights exited the citadel side-door and came walking briskly down the lane towards him. In the gathering dusk their swirling red capes drew more eyes than just his. But the knights looked neither left nor right, and judging by their pace the ale at the Rising Sun had to be calling them very loudly tonight.

Merlin drew a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and stepped out into the street.

Not too fast, not too slow, swaying his hips just a little, looking preoccupied..... they had to step aside to let him pass between them, and they did so, politely. But he'd learned a thing or two since he left Ealdor. Nimueh herself had taught him this trick, in fact. What better way than to follow in the footsteps of the very master of charming and dangerous deceit?

Right in front of them Merlin stumbled with a little shriek, bumping into Gwaine. He would have fallen if not for the knight's quick and instinctive reflexes. Gwaine caught him, steadied him and put him back on his feet in one smooth move, grabbing onto Merlin's arm to be sure _she_ remained on _her_ feet.

“Whoa, whoa now, pretty lady. Careful there! Where are you going in such a hurry?”

Merlin looked at Gwaine's hand on his own arm, then let his glance slide upwards without raising his head, lashes slowly lifting to meet the knight's laughing and interested eyes. There was a slight twitch, a small but noticeable tremor in Gwaine's grip.

Merlin bit his lip prettily, knowing that his mouth would be left reddened, plump and slightly wet from the seemingly embarrassed gesture.

“I'm sorry, sir knight, I don't know what happened! Forgive me for being so clumsy!” He smiled, looking at Gwaine coyly through perfectly blackened lashes. “Thank you,” he whispered in a carefully breathy voice.

These were moves he'd practised in front of the mirror. It paid off handsomely.

Gwaine practically sputtered.

Elyan and Leon were both standing close, curious and attentive. They moved one to each side, so that Merith was standing in a protective semi-circle of tall and noble knights.

Staking his claim, without letting go the grip on her arm, Gwaine sketched the lady a little bow and smiled broadly into her face. His eyes were warm and very eager. “Oh, it was little enough, m'lady. I'm glad to be of help. Is there any further service I might offer you?”

There was an unmistakable hunger in his voice. Gwaine puffed his chest out, squared his shoulders and pushed the left one slightly forward, resplendent with its golden dragon crest on proud Pendragon red.

Merlin smiled, doing his best to pretend modesty. He wanted to laugh like a hyena with sheer delight. Gwaine would be _mortified_ when the truth was out!

“No thank you, handsome sir knight, I can manage.” He looked briefly right, then left, at Leon and Elyan, “I am sorry I was inattentive and did not see you there, good knights. I will not disturb you further in your duties. A good evening to you all!”

Briefly inclining his head, Merlin moved one small step to the side. Gwaine moved with him.

“Perhaps I might see you safely home, m'lady? Eh... where do you live?”

Merlin sensed, more than saw, how Elyan and Leon rolled their eyes. He noticed that not a one among the three knights was stepping back, though. They were all of them still standing so close that he could almost sense their body warmth.

“Thank you kindly, but there is no need to trouble yourself further.” Once more sliding his glance slowly upwards, meeting Gwaine's eyes briefly and arching an eyebrow, Merlin frowned prettily. He looked pointedly back down to Gwaine's hand. “Please let me go. Truly, sir knight, all is well.”

Gwaine had no other choice. He let Merlin go and stepped back. Never a quitter, he gave the lady his most blindingly rakish grin, his open desire easy to read.

“Your wish is my command, m'lady. _Any_ wish.”

Merlin dimpled wordlessly. He started walking. None of the knights moved to follow him. He could hear Elyan saying something jokingly, mentioning Gwaine's name, and Leon laughing, but Gwaine disregarded them both. His warm suggestive voice stalked Merlin down the lane.

“At least tell me your name, pretty lady. I think we'll meet again!”

Merlin did not slow down nor turn round, but gave a slight twitch of his shoulders even as he pulled his shawl back up into place across his shoulders with slow deliberation. An unequivocal though subtle rejection – one that any knight would be able to read.

Head held high, hips swaying, he kept walking, barely hesitating as he approached the first corner.

The time had come for the planned _reveal_. He had to turn back now to expose the charade, do a bit of teasing and mocking, poke fun at how easily they fell for his ruse and make them feel like gullible fools.

He knew they were still watching – their eyes on him felt like intimate caresses, feather-light touches on his skin. He shivered. And moved proudly on, never faltering or stumbling, abandoning his prank just like that.

He couldn't let them know. He just couldn't make a joke out of this and break the spell, couldn't shatter this perfect illusion. 

This felt too good, too sweet for that.

Everything slotted into place. The slight blush he could feel in his cheeks was real. No pretence necessary. He was intensely aware of his privates, dangling freely between his legs, feeling full and heavy. His linen underskirt whispered across his hardening cock as the skirt moved with every step he made, the cloth's slight coarseness rubbing rhytmically back and forth across his over-sensitized skin.

He'd not considered petticoats, and he wasn't even wearing his own smallclothes. Going bare under the long skirt had felt... natural. And right. He hadn't known till now just _how_ right.

He walked on.

Merlin couldn't remember ever being this aroused.

The walkways and long corridors back to Gaius' chambers were pure torture to navigate in a reasonably upright state. Back at his room he hitched up his skirts, threw himself backwards on the bed in a frenzied flurry of cloth, braced his legs firmly on the mattress and wanked himself into glorious, dizzy oblivion. The climax was so intense, the pleasure so all-consuming, his mind blanked out for a little while.

Later, as he expertly magicked the semen stains off his skirts and bed blankets, he knew this was not the end of it. Could never be the end of it.

There was one more thing he needed to do before he stopped playing this game. 

One more person his Merith needed to meet.

\- - + - - 

He wanted to look like a proper _lady_ for this. No half measures. And luckily there were many beautiful and costly dresses in the castle, left behind by the usurper queen and her sorceress sister when they had to flee from the wreckage of their schemes and the ruin of their own making.

To his chagrin Merlin found that though most of Morgana's dresses would fit him nicely, very few of them were modest enough to obscure his lamentable lack of cleavage. Morgana had never been afraid of showing herself off.

As it was, he decided on a sky-blue wide-skirted silk dress with a narrow waistline and long flowing sleeves, its bodice stiff with silver embroidery. He could not remember Morgana ever wearing the thing – hopefully Arthur wouldn't recognize it.

Demure though the dress might be in view of the previous owner's standards, it nevertheless was necessary for Merlin to shave his chest in addition to his face and throat, for he would certainly be revealing a fair bit of skin. He spent an awkward and uncomfortable hour with a bowl of soapy lather and a freshly sharpened razor, clumsily removing the hair from his arms and legs while he was at it.

One of the simple healing spells he'd mastered took care of the many nicks and cuts, and Gaius' special herbal salve ensured his shaved skin would be completely smooth and supple to the touch.

He painted his eyes as before, but soon enough realized he would never be able to manage the laces of the dress without a bit of precision magic, and secured his long black braid in place with the aid of yet another spell. As a finishing touch he fastened a slinky-soft velvet ribbon tightly round his throat, attaching his silver star pendant to it.

Spreading his skirts Merlin twirled in front of the mirror, a blue and silver blur of sweeping silks and frothy lace, his long dark braid whipping through the air. He felt completely transformed. His limbs felt lighter than usual. It was as if he'd grown wings!

At the last moment he nevertheless couldn't resist casting a simple glamour over himself, one that would make his masculine features go unnoticed and emphasize the soft, feminine side of his appearance. It didn't seem like cheating, didn't add much to how _real_ and how right this already felt. And if he truly was the greatest warlock alive, it was only fair that magic on a rare occasion could help him in his pursuit of a little personal happiness, not only in making the grand destiny of Albion unfold.

On an impulse he leaned forward and touched his lips to their cold reflection in the mirror. His heart was beating fast and loud. This was it!

With a deep, steadying breath he exited the safety of his own room and made for the royal chambers.

\- - + - - 

Arthur was dining with a group of his knights that evening. Merlin had made sure he knew when they were likely to retire.

The guards at the entrance to the royal wing were easily distracted. He had long practice at that sport.

In the corridor outside Arthur's chambers there were large candle-stands at regular intervals along the wall. Their bright flames flickered in the castle's drafts, and there were patches of darkness between each shivering pool of light. Merlin took up position in the shadows next to an ancient tapestry, and waited.

It was not long before Arthur came walking briskly down the corridor. He was alone, as Merlin had hoped.

The king did not notice the still form by the wall until he was right next to it. He reacted at once, jumping towards the other wall and pivoting to face the intruder, body tensing and hand going to the dagger at his belt. He challenged the stranger without hesitation.

“Who are you? Show yourself”

Merlin did as commanded. His heart was fluttering wildly in his chest, anxiety and mad anticipation battling for supremacy behind his tight bodice. The sudden unexpected danger - and worse, the risk of exposure, - made a breathy high-pitched voice come naturally.

“I'm sorry, your majesty, please forgive me. I am merely a visitor here and must have lost my way.”

“Come closer! No-one _accidentally_ loses their way past my guards to linger on my private doorstep. Come here into the light at once, and tell me your purpose.” Arthur drew a breath, his eyes raking Merlin from top to toe and narrowing angrily. He shook his head. “Well now. Is this a joke?”

Merlin was baffled and unsettled by Arthur's evident hostility. Normally he was all too willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Then he realized his mistake. Morgana's silk dress, her cosmetics, the long dark braid, the blue stone glittering at his throat, all of it veiled in shadows: Arthur wasn't annoyed at discovering his manservant skulking in a dress, thank the ancient gods - he must have thought the shadowy figure waiting for him was _Morgana_!

Merlin cringed. He'd not been thinking this through, he'd just been desperately _wanting_. Wishing. Longing. He was lucky Arthur hadn't killed him on the spot, or at the very least had that dagger at his throat.

He hurriedly stepped forward, tilting his face to catch the light, keeping his empty hands in plain sight, trying to sound dignified rather than breathlessly panicked. His heart kept doing somersaults.

“I am truly just a guest but recently arrived to Camelot, my Lord. I mean no harm. I am sorry for trespassing.”

Arthur relaxed his stance, and Merlin attempted a small smile. Their eyes met. There was an immediate jolt, a strong connection – out of the blue Merlin remembered the first time they met, in the sunny courtyard outside the castle. The sensation was much the same. It was dizzying and strangely mesmerizing.

Arthur looked more mature now, of course. He was as handsome as ever, but more regal, with his bright golden hair, generous lips, and the blue eyes with an ever-present piercing glint of cold steel.

Merlin regretted not having brought a fan.

Arthur broke eye contact and gave Merlin a slow, considering once-over. He took in the fine clothes, the glittering jewel, the shimmering silks. And he grinned. “What a pretty dress! Do not fret, m'lady. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that you... lost your way. It gives me the opportunity to welcome you to Camelot.”

Merlin's smile widened, and he lowered his kohl-rimmed eyes to hide a gleam of giddy triumph. He had stumbled at first, but now he clearly was regaining his footing. He hadn't been revealed for who he was! His skin pebbled with chills of delight. He drew a deep, steadying breath.

Moving with careful grace he gripped his skirt, spread it wide – all the better to display his narrow waist – and curtsied prettily, hiding his height. He remained in that same position till Arthur stepped close and gave him a hand up. His hand was warm and sure, his grip unguarded, squeezing Merlin's fingers for a moment before he let go.

“I am honoured to meet your majesty. I am sorry I disturbed you. I beg your pardon.” Merlin turned to leave.

“Wait – wait,” Arthur said. “Won't you introduce yourself at least? A name to go with your lovely face? There's something about you, m'lady – I can't quite put my finger on it.”

Merlin stepped backwards, hands up in a gesture of denial, eyes going wide and pleading. This sudden echo from the past made him reel. The warning bells were going off. As far as Merlin could determine, Arthur himself wasn't aware just how close he was on the scent, but nevertheless that was far too close for Merlin's liking.

“Goodbye, my lord,” Merlin whispered, inclining his head. He hoped it looked graceful. He kept backing off.

Arthur looked puzzled and intent, but did not follow as Merlin kept backing away. “Why are you...? Oh, hey now, please don't run away!”

Merlin nearly stumbled. He turned away, speechless.

“Does this mean we'll never meet again, then?” Arthur's voice followed him down the corridor.

“Who knows what fate may have in store?” Merlin threw back across his shoulder. “Stranger things have happened”. 

And with that he lifted his skirts a little and fled, a pleasant echo of laughter chasing him down long stairs and through empty hallways, his heart racing as terror and excitement gave his feet wings.

\- - + - - 

Arthur spent the next day out on some sort of patrol. Merlin only saw him briefly in the morning. He spoke and moved with a distracted and distant air, but didn't mention the mysterious trespassing lady he'd encountered in the night. Merlin considered Arthur's silence on the subject to be a good omen.

Next evening he was waiting in the same place, dressed as elegantly as before. He couldn't help himself. He was compelled by something that defied both reason or caution, attracted to court this danger like the moth cannot resist making love to the flame. Going dressed as Merith felt good, but the pleasure increased when he was near Arthur, close to the one he cared for the most, secretly sharing the thrill with him. And the considerable risk involved only added a keener edge to Merlin's excitement.

Arthur noticed him at once, almost as if he'd been expecting this, hoping for it. He beamed one of his charmingly lopsided smiles at Merlin and walked right up to him.

“And where were my guards this time?” he asked.

Merlin was all composure. He tilted his head and looked at the king through his lashes. “Why? Do you think you need protection? Do I look dangerous?”

“Very dangerous.”

Merlin bit his lip. “Perhaps you're right”.

They stood for a moment in silence. Arthur broke the impasse. “Well, no point in standing around in this dusty cold corridor. Join me, if you please.”

He went to the door of his chambers, held it open invitingly and let his silent guest step over the threshold first. The door closed behind them with the thud of a muted heartbeat.

Merlin looked around. Arthur's chambers were orderly and stately, but nevertheless welcoming. He should know - he'd seen to it himself. Fresh candles, lit against the night. The sumptuous crimson-gold cushions and bed-hangings, the fine tapestries and polished-to-gleaming furniture, the many bright points of light; all of it gave the large room a regal, glowing and intimate air.

He walked further into the room, studying Arthur's possessions, everything that spoke of the man behind the king. The helmets and swords, the stuffed animal heads, the fine pelts - it felt as if this was first time he truly saw any of it.

His hand slid over the table top and along the carved chairs, fingertips burying themselves in a fur cover, exploring the silken cushions, feeling their way along the mantlepiece.

Arthur remained standing by the door, observing without comment as Merlin moved about.

Neither of them had spoken a word.

Merlin was seeing the room through touch, all senses wide open, the red and gold and fire, feeling what it would be like to somebody new, somebody else. The silence, the anticipation, the tension in the room settled deep within him. This was where he wanted to be, the company he wanted to keep - this was _who_ he wanted to be.

He turned away from Arthur, dropped his shawl over the back of a chair, and with shoulders proudly back and head held high moved to one of the stained glass windows. Keeping his back to the room Merlin looked blindly out through the dark window panes. Out into the impenetrable night. Wanting. Waiting.

He could sense Arthur's eyes on him. The king came as if called, stalking wordlessly across the carpets. He halted right behind Merlin, and after the briefest of pauses placed a hand lightly on Merlin's right shoulder.

“Won't you tell me... who you are? What is this?”

Merlin remained silent, intensely aware of their physical contact. Arthur's fingers had briefly brushed his collarbone. He shuddered.

“Don't you have a name to give me, at least?” Arthur murmured. The room was quiet around them, surrounding them like a cocoon, as if the castle and the kingdom and the whole wide world had fallen into deep, enchanted sleep.

It was intoxicating.

“I am here strictly incognito, my lord. Please let it remain that way.”

Arthur's breath whispered over the exposed skin of his neck and collarbone. His mouth was very close to Merlin's ear. “Incognito? Have you committed a crime, then?”

“Only if passion is a crime, my lord.”

Merlin turned around, slowly, taking care not to dislodge Arthur's strong warm hand from his shoulder. They were standing too close for propriety.

Arthur's eyes met Merlin's, searchingly, wonderingly. It was hypnotic.

“Passion?”

“I loved a man, a man below my station, and showed my love.... in many ways. My family objected. They threatened me, accused me of being a wanton, they say I am indecent, shameless... lewd. Just because I would let my body speak for my heart. I had to run away, to hide behind an assumed name, to stay here in secret, with an old friend. But I am lonely....”

“Indecent?” Arthur said, as if in a dream. “Tell me. What would you do?”

Merlin gave him a small push so that he had to take one step back, and without hesitation sank serenely to his knees in a pool of silk and lace. He looked up at Arthur's dark and solid form, his face hidden in shadow since all the candles were behind him.

“This,” he replied, and reached for the flap in Arthur's breeches.

Arthur didn't resist, and didn't try to fend him off. A small sound escaped him, a gasp, or a sob, Merlin wasn't sure.

He loosened the strings with deft fingers and reached inside. There was no doubt of his welcome - Arthur was as aroused as he himself was.

He sighed, relieved.

Arthur's hard cock was like the man himself, solid, handsome, long and strong. Merlin took the base of it in a firm grip, feeling and admiring the fine eager length, stroking once upwards and back down. Leaning in, he sent a puff of air across the tip, nosing right on past it to inhale the strong earthy scent of Arthur's crotch. He breathed deeply.

There was another half-strangled noise from above.

Merlin pulled back, slowly and deliberately, rubbing his smooth cheek against the hard flesh like a contented cat. He closed his lips around the tip, exploring it with his tongue, circling, tasting, revelling, then gently tracing the slit. Never letting go the solid grip near the base, he sank down as far as he could.

Arthur reached out for the wall to support himself, placing his other hand on Merlin's head in benediction as it moved up and down on him.

Arthur did not speak, but his breathing was speeding up, becoming louder, turning into gasps.

Merlin felt the exuberantly filthy joy of it, delicious and demanding heat coiling its way through him like the fever of obsession. Except when working magic, he had never been this present in his own life, never this aware of every sensation, every emotion, each single heartbeat - everything.

He looked up. Arthur had thrown his head back, mouth slightly open, eyes firmly shut.

Merlin was so hard, and craving friction so desperately, he threw caution to the wind and gave himself a few proper tugs through the concealing layers of costly fabrics. That brought him right to the edge, and oh, oh, he was going to... was going to...

Unexpectedly, magnificently, he and Arthur climaxed together.

Arthur tore his hand away from Merlin's head and gripped his shoulder instead, hanging on through his release like a drowning man clings to the rescue-rope.

Until the bitter salty tang filled his mouth Merlin hadn't known how much he craved this. The taste of Arthur, the smell of their come – it filled Merlin's senses, adding to the intensely erotic sensations of silk sliding across his skin, the snug bodice hugging his chest, the subtle scent of his own perfume.

The combination of Arthur's maleness and his own feminine trappings was perfect, exquisite.

When it was over he was wonderfully happy and languidly blissful. This was true fulfilment. He could wish for nothing more.

Arthur looked down on him, his eyes very dark, the light from above and behind him mostly hiding his features in shadow. He reached down towards Merlin's face, his thumb slowly tracing the lower lip, pressing into the swollen and achingly tender flesh, feeling his way as if needing to make sure this was a real human being in front of him and no phantom, no ghost, no dream.

Merlin shuddered.

“Are you a sorceress?” Arthur asked.

“No, my lord. No.”

The hand on Merlin's shoulder slid away, powerless. “Then what _are_ you?”

Merlin rose slowly to his feet, adjusting his come-sticky skirts, facing Arthur in the murk.

He had no regrets, none at all, but shadows coiled all around them now, long shadows of double deceit and a dark desperate passion that he could neither explain nor deny. He leaned in slowly, so slowly, closing his eyes, placing the briefest and most chaste of kisses against Arthur's parted lips.

Arthur's eyes went wide, “Oh gods,” he whispered. “This...”

Merlin bent his head, his heart clenched by an iron fist.

He couldn't breathe.

He left.

\- - + - - 

That was how it went for weeks.

Merlin stumbled through his ordinary work every day in a daze, performing his duties as manservant routinely, his mind far away in a night-time land of skin and silk and secret desires. The days were like dwindling and dull dreams, soon forgotten, but their shared nights were vivid, memorable, and magical.

One of the first nights they were alone in the royal chambers, Merlin'd had his back to Arthur as was becoming their custom already. Arthur had reached for his arms, pulling them back, clamping the slender wrists together in the forceful grip of one hand, spanning his slim waist with the other to pull his willing prisoner close. Holding Merlin captive and on his toes, Arthur leaned in to taste the pale neck, biting down gently, tenderly and slowly suckling and kissing the delicate skin over the clavicles. “Yield to me,” he murmured. “Yield...”

He let himself be held, be manhandled, be worshipped. He soared above as Arthur held his body tight, grounded him, denied him movement. The feeling was like a drug, too potent to resist.

Merlin was relieved and pleased at his own foresight when it came to his customary everyday clothes. The neckerchief was his salvation. He had so many big and blushing love-bites that were it not for the carefully tied blue or red piece of cloth he could hardly have shown himself in public at all.

In the daytime Arthur was short-tempered, distracted. The knights were all walking on eggshells around him. The servants started talking earnestly about their worst memories of Uther. But apart from a few snide and impatient remarks Arthur left Merlin alone, much more so than usual, and for that Merlin was intensely grateful. He could hardly reconcile their public persons of king and manservant with the obsessed men of their frantic nightly trysts. He preferred not to be around Arthur, the noble and benevolent king, in the revealing light of day.

They were both of them very short of sleep.

But when each new night came, Merlin managed to steal away from the king and from Gaius to make for Morgana's deserted rooms. He'd moved all his alter ego's things there, the gowns and cosmetics and accessories. It was easier that way. Arthur's chambers were very near. And as long as he was quiet and discreet, no-one would ever notice that the rooms were being used.

The late evenings and early nights were filled with moans and whispers. Arthur had made a ritual of his strong fascination for Merlin's graceful wrists and his tiny waistline, bruising it with strong hands while he inserted one leg between Merlin's from behind, tangling them both in layers of silk and starched muslin, pressing close, and caressing every inch of exposed skin with dry, burning lips.

At first he respected Merlin's unspoken limits, venturing no further with his caresses than he was invited to do. All they were conscious of were those searing lips and fingers slowly sliding, the rustling of silk, the sighing sobs when Merlin knelt before Arthur, the wet sounds and smells of desire. Arthur's chambers had become a nightly haven of deep, dark bliss.

But Merlin knew in his heart of hearts that it couldn't last. Something was bound to give. Arthur was slowly getting bolder and increasingly impatient, his persistent hands and lips roaming further, searching and touching, wanting to explore under the concealing silks of his skirt and bodice. The underskirt that held Merlin's cock under firmly starched wraps would soon be insufficient. It would be impossible to keep the secret. 

The beautiful illusion could shattered into horror, anger, betrayal and regret. It would have to end, very soon. 

Only one more night, Merlin would tell himself each day at first sunlight. But then, when that one more night was through, and he hadn't been exposed, he couldn't resist the temptation of just one more...

Then one evening as he was hurrying to Morgana's chambers he heard the sound of weeping from one of the side corridors. He stopped, peeked round the corner, and saw Gwen. She was leaning against the wall, slumped with hopelessness, sobbing quietly, eyes crunched shut as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her hands were clutching a silk scarf that Merlin could not fail to recognize. 

He retraced his steps quietly and went on his way. He felt like he'd been soundly slapped awake.

Arthur and he had been living in a world of deceit, a world apart, ignoring their commitments, their obligations and their friends for the pleasures of their urgent, covert trysts. Most likely Gwen didn't know the full story. Arthur's odd behaviour must have alerted her and made her decide to investigate further, surely with the best of intentions. Gwen would have realized on sight that Morgana's rooms were being used again, and obviously had made a devastatingly shrewd guess as to the secretive guest's purpose. Merlin didn't think Gwen could have recognized her mysterious silk-sheated rival for Arthur's affections – he'd been too careful for that. But the Merlin who was Gwen's close friend, and the Arthur who cared deeply for her – they would have noticed her distress. They should have _known_ that she was on to their secret, that they were hurting her, that she was heartbroken. 

Reality had come knocking, loud and clear. Their time was up.

Merlin sensed a vast void opening in front of his feet, only darkness beyond the steep ledge he was balancing on. He felt like crumbling into a heap, wanted to kick and scream like a child protesting the inevitable. But he walked on with a heavy heart.

One last night.

Then never again.

\- - + - - 

“I have been called away, my lord. I'm leaving Camelot tomorrow. This has to be our goodbye.”

“No!” Arthur replied, grabbing hold of his arm forcefully. He cleared his throat. “No, I don't want to end this. What's wrong?”

“There is no other way,” Merlin sighed. “Our time is up.”

Arthur was silent, his face suddenly blank, body tense and eyes unreadable.

The candle flames flickered all around them as if a ghost had passed through the air. A feeling of dread filled the room, as if the world were about to end.

“There is one thing yet, my lord,” Merlin murmured shakily. “One memory I want to take with me.”

He looked right into Arthur's eyes. “I want to give myself to you.”

Arthur flinched. “You want to... want me to..”

Merlin sensed himself blushing and looked aside. “Even.... even if they’ve cast me out, for the sake of my family's honour I will not.... I must remain a virgin, my lord. I hope I shall one day hear those who spoke ill of me admit they were wrong to treat me so harshly. But... there is another way. For you to.... to possess me. That is what I want.”

He reached into his bodice, fishing for the small vial he'd hidden at his chest. A beautiful and fragile glass bottle, one of Gaius' finest, the oil within it warmed and readied by his body heat.

Arthur stared.

Suddenly Merlin laughed, a breathy giddiness bubbling up from deep within him and turning into giggles for a moment. He brought himself back under control. “I told you I have been called indecent, my lord. Lustful and shameless. This is your final confirmation that every word is true.”

Arthur fidgeted, uncharacteristically uncertain, and looked away. “I hadn't expected that you'd be quite.... this resourceful.”

Merlin took one of his hands and pressed the vial into it, closing his strong fingers around it. “It's better that I know what it takes. This is for you. I want you to use it. Do it.”

He didn't wait for Arthur's reaction or a reply, but turned in the direction of the wide bench by the wall, picking up two crimson cushions as he walked past the bed.

He put the cushions down on the wooden seat, collected his rich skirts, hitched them up above his knees, and climbed up on the bench. Spreading his legs well apart, he leaned forward, pressed his cheek to the stone wall, let go of the dress and underskirts and slapped his palms to the wall too. Then he waited.

He felt insubstantial, radiant, intensely alive. He was like a flame floating mid-air. His heart was beating in slow, steady thumps like the footsteps of destiny approaching.

He was aware of the structure of the wall, the chill of the stone, the soft-hard feeling of the bench and the cushions under his knees. Drafts of air were creeping in under his displaced skirts, past the silk stockings and the pretty blue garter he'd donned for the first time, curling leisurely round his buttocks and genitals. His cock was plump and heavy, slowly filling with hot blood and primal need.

There was an overwhelming sensuality to this. Desperation added a sharp edge to every little sensation. He was a flower dropped into dark lake waters and floating on the tranquil surface while something wild and strong and dangerous lurked in the depths, something that would rise in ecstasy to rip apart the petals and leave only scattered and ruined remnants behind. That was what he wanted. That was what he craved.

There was no movement and no sound behind him. Arthur was taking his time, still indecisive. That only made the slow minutes more precious to Merlin. This call from the depths was irresistible, unconquerable. Arthur would submit to it.

There was a large candle next to the bench. Merlin looked steadily into the bright flame, into the very core of light, dwelling in that bright, peaceful place. And he waited.

Slight noises gave Arthur away. Slow footfalls, the rustling of clothes, the thump of a boot falling to the floor, the plop as the stopper left the vial, the soft squelching of oil slicking skin.

Arthur stepped up to the bench. With sure and steady hands he lifted away the silks that were in his way, pulled Merlin's buttocks apart, and positioned himself.

Merlin stopped breathing. But he didn't say a word. Didn't recoil.

“You wanted this,” Arthur said. “You'll have it.”

He thrust home in one agonizingly forceful motion.

\- - + - - 

When he had finished at last, Arthur slid to the floor, his back against the wall. He looked wrecked. His softening cock was hanging out of his breeches still, his golden hair was dull and damp with sweat, his face had taken on a pale, ghost-like sheen. There were dark circles under his eyes.

Merlin arranged himself wordlessly, feeling empty and lost. He hadn't come, it had been far too painful for that. But there'd been a strange sweetness to it nevertheless, intimacy and tenderness in the midst of the brutal searing off of this part of his life. Burning one's bridge to happiness was _supposed_ to hurt.

He was turning towards his old life with dread and determination. What had once been seemed so simple now, so innocent and guileless. For all his woes over having to hide his magic, it was as if he'd gone through life sleeping.

He looked down at Arthur. “Thank you.”

“No, don't,” Arthur whispered brokenly. He reached out, but too late. Merlin was already at the door, his trembling hand resting on the latch.

“Goodbye.”

“Don't,” Arthur repeated, louder now. “Please don't leave. Merlin, don't go!”

¤¤¤ The End ¤¤¤ 


End file.
